


Let This Night Bind Us

by StarksInTheNorth



Series: Tormented Nights [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (but they don't know that), Angst, Brother/Sister Incest, F/M, Incest, Post-Episode: s06e09 Battle of the Bastards, R Plus L Equals J, mentions of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21983620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarksInTheNorth/pseuds/StarksInTheNorth
Summary: Kept awake by nightmares of their past trauma, Jon and Sansa find solace in one another's arms.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Tormented Nights [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582477
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58





	Let This Night Bind Us

**Author's Note:**

> This was written originally in 2016; edited and reposted.

A woman’s horrified scream pierces the cool midnight air suddenly, abruptly, and stops Jon on his errant wandering.

There is no sound less familiar to the halls of Winterfell in Jon’s memory, but the halls are not the same ones he grew up in. The shriek comes from the Lady’s Chambers, he is certain, and he dashes down the corridor and bursts into the room without considering the impropriety of his actions.

Sansa sits in her bed, knees pulled tight against her chest. She glances up at him, blue eyes brimming with tears and copper hair matted to the sweat against her skin. Sitting in the darkened room in her pearly white nightgown, she looks half specter, half queen, all terrified woman.

She says his name softly, like a prayer she is afraid to have answered. “Jon?”

He is at her side in four strides, pulling her into his arms. Jon murmurs words into her hair as Sansa shakes beneath him. “What’s wrong, Sansa?”

“I woke up, after . . . after . . .”

Jon strokes her hair and pulls her body flush against his chest. “After what?”

Sansa shakes in his arms, sitting in the bedroom that she was born in. Her words are hidden behind layers of fear. Anger rises immediately in Jon, to know that someone he loves could ever be so scared even when afford all the protections a great castle like Winterfell can offer. But what Sansa needs protection for is an enemy reachable through a castle’s walls, a husband no better than a dog.

“I cannot close my eyes without seeing Ramsey’s face.” Her speech is weak and barely audible, voice trembling even more than the woman. “I cannot lay down without feeling his hands against my skin. I cannot breath without being imprisoned by his memory in the fibers of my soul.

“No soft touch have I felt, even though Father promised me a gentle and kind knight…” She buries her face against his chest. Sansa croaks, “Jon … please.”

Jon rocks her steadily. “Yes?”

“Will you help me?”

“Anything you ask that I can do, I will.” 

Sansa tilts her head up to hold his gaze, and cradles his face in her hand. “I need to feel whole again. I need this feeling, this violation that shakes me to my core . . .” Sansa swallows nervously. “I need it _gone_.”

“I-”

Her lips are soft and sweet as they collide with his own. Jon starts, but accepts her frazzled, wanting touch. Sansa’s kiss is brief and short, a gentle summer breeze through the godswood in happier times, but he cannot deny her anything, the woman who gave him a reason for living a second life.

Jon lets her lead, accepts the sin that is his more than hers, but gives into all the feelings that fill him like a bucket in the well.

She clutches at his shirt to pull him closer to her. He can feel the slight rounding of her bosom through the fabric of her nightgown and smell the lavender in her hair. He pulls her against his body, his only sign of aggression or intimacy besides reciprocating to her wants and desires. She has been hurt so much, by so many, that he will not be anything except hers if they are to do these unholy things. When Jon's hands find her hair and stroke it gently, it inspires her towards more action, too. Tentatively, Sansa deepens the kiss and nips gently at his lip.

Jon ruins the moment with a light groan at the feelings flowing through him. Sansa pushes him away, sudden and forceful. Her cheeks blush deep red and her lips sprout into a worried frown. “I’m sorry, Jon, I’m so, I - ”

He tries to pull her in, to let her know their sin is together, its okay, but it is not. Sansa shifts back to the pillows at her headboard, head shaking. “I- go, please. Not because of - but please, Jon, leave me, _please_.”

Her words confuse Jon but he leaves her as requested, rising off the bed and going back to his wanderings. It is the way she said please that haunts him until their next late night encounter, echoing in his head like some forlorn march, again and again: _please, Jon, please_.

* * *

Three nights later that she comes to him, as Jon stares at the deep red canopy draped above his bed. Sleep escapes him since he died and rose again. He did not sleep at all, the first six nights after his rebirth. But on the seventh day, Sansa appeared in the gateway to Castle Black, a girl in a grey cloak on a dying horse, and everything seemed whole and right and real again. They spent that night talking and preparing and planning, reliving happy childhood memories and sharing the terrors that brought them both to where they were. And though they spoke until after the hour of the wolf, Jon finally fell asleep in the chair besides the fire with Sansa besides him.

Now, Jon bolts upright when his door creaks open with a sound he is sure can be heard throughout the entire castle. His quick movements shoves the sheets off his body and sends his furs tumbling to the floor. Sansa stands as a shadow in his doorway, only her bright head of fire revealing her identity as the hall’s torch glances off its strands like burnished copper.

“ _Please_.”

He barely discerns the word hidden in her whimper. She steps closer, entering the room and letting the door swing shut behind her. “I need to feel whole again, to feel safe.”

Draped only in her thin white shift, her curves are visible now in the glow of his hearth. They throw shadows against the wall that fill him with a sense of both wonder and dread. Wonder at the beauty, dread that he appreciates it. “Sansa-”

She perches besides him, the featherbed sinking under her. “Jon.”

Her voice is resolute, firm. There is no command in her tone, only simple understanding. She would stop, if he asked her to, but Jon cannot bring himself to end this interaction that will bring them both well-deserved comfort, safety, joy. She looks at him from beneath a veil of lashes and licks her soft lips in the gentlest, most innocent way. Sansa waits, staring at him with that gaze that could kill, and only moves after Jon nods his consent.

The sides of her shift are peeled away, one and then another, until her whole body is visible in soft light. She presses herself against him, crawling up to close the little space between them. 

And finally, a union, strange but natural, like a bee alighting atop a flower to drink of its nectar and pollen.

He is all gentle kisses and soft touches, light gasps against her skin as they discover every inch of one another. But she is full of hurried grasping and the furious scrapes of her fingernails against his bare back, lost in this world of love and shared bliss she had thought impossible until now, where they are united.

It should feel so wrong, tangled in the sheets with his sister, but nothing has ever felt this right since he first left Winterfell. As Jon thinks this, her voice from all the years of their childhood whispers in his mind: _half-brother, bastard brother,_ and he knows they have never truly looked at one another in the right way, the way they were supposed to. Even at Castle Black and their march across the North, with Sansa as his guiding light, and Jon as her risen knight; to each, the other was only this: _salvation_.

Sansa keeps her noises to herself, bites her lips to keep her pleasure within so it is not heard by any. At her mewled urging, Jon kisses her hard. He nips at her bottom lip and fondles her breasts with scarred, callused hands, but still he is as tender he can be; he does not want to hurt her. “Let me hear you. There’s no shame in your sound.”

After that, when Jon takes Sansa’s nipple in his mouth and swirls his tongue around the tip, she moans out loud and true. He kisses across the valley of her chest, down to her navel and across, everywhere except where he most would like to, to know the taste of her. Instead, Jon learns the scrapes against her skin, the scars and marks that mar her beauty but enhance her inner strength. In turn, Sansa accustoms herself to the places where death claimed him, kissing each ridge of scarred skin and tracing the longes with her tongue. Together, they are one.

Her moves are unsteady and unsure yet somehow well-practiced, as if she has thought of how she wants to touch her brother. That thought sinfully makes him harden more than even her hand skimming against his manhood as she hurriedly unties his pants and pushes them away. Jon finds his way to Sansa’s center and finally kisses her where he most has wanted to this entire night. He brings her to her joy with fingers and tongue and kisses and love, for what may be the first time she’s known what it is like to come apart in the arms of someone who will put you make together.

Jon almost thinks to stop, when he has shown her how he feels, but Sansa urges him on, tracing his forearms with her fingernails and begging, “Jon, I want you, please. I want _all_ of you.”

The feeling of her as he brings them to eternal closeness is strange, hot and soft but home. Jon enters Sansa with a slow motion, but her hips meet his with force. She tries to find a place of power in their dance and seizes it all when he offers it. They move together as one pair, her taking the lead. She holds him inside her with her hands against his naked back, adjusting to his girth and length. Eventually her legs come to hook behind Jon, holding them together. When she is ready, Sansa dictates speed and stillness and the hardness of each thrust until they both find that high release together.

After, when Jon rolls away, Sansa comes with him, tucks her head into his side and clings to him with the might of a rising vine climbing ancient trees. Jon idly traces patterns along the skin of her arms and presses a kiss to her forehead. Sansa nestles in closer to his side and wraps her arm across his chest.

Jon presses another kiss to her forehead. “I promise to do all I can to make sure you are always safe, forever.”

She waits in silence and when she is so still and quiet he finally thinks she is asleep, Sansa whispers, “I only feel safe when I’m with you.”

“I’ll protect you, I promise.”

“No one can protect anyone.” Sansa murmurs. “It’s just a feeling. But sometimes a feeling is all we need to make it through whole.”

No one will know what passes between them. None will ever know that Sansa found herself again through Jon, and he found himself again through her, together in this unholy bond between brother and sister. The old gods and the new may watch, but none on earth can tear them apart in this moment for it is theirs alone.

Sansa sleeps besides him without nightmares for the first time since she left Winterfell from her husband’s terrors and pain. In the morning, as she lies in silence with her head against his chest, her soft words startle him away and awake from his wildly galloping mind. “Thank you.”

“Sansa-” She sets a finger against his lips. Sansa rises and slips her shift over her shoulders. 

“Thank you, Jon. For true.” Sansa bends down and kisses him on his forehead before leaving the bed chamber and her brother behind, leaving too many questions in the air. There are words they will not say for many more years, and even then this night will go unspoken for many more.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, then come hangout on [tumblr](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com) to talk about Jonsa, Jonerys, Daensa, ASOIAF, and GOT. I also take prompts in my [ask box](https://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com/ask/).


End file.
